Five times Clint didn't get Phil, and one he did
by Gemenice
Summary: The five times Clint didn't get Phil, and the one time he did.


**Disclaimer:** Marvel owns everything.

**Warnings: **Romance, Randomness, probably some grammar mistakes... oh yeah slash.

**Pairings:** Clint/Phil

**A/N:** Once more, a challenge from my best friend - Liu. I'm not too happy about this one, cause I certainly _can't_ write Clint/Phil but she liked it so... oh well. Also, the conversation in second time goes to Marvel, it's in the comic _Fury's week_ which is REALLY great, and the memo at the end is inspired by _memesfromfury _on tumblr.

_**Feel free to drop a review. **_

_**Summary: **The five times Clint didn't get Phil, and the one time he did. _

**The five times Clint didn't get Phil, and the one time he did**_  
_

Phil knew it was wrong. Of course he knew, it was against the rules and Phil knew that, cause he read them again and again, and again, hoping, that if perhaps he did that enough time this strange… _obsession_ would just go away.

That he wouldn't notice the small smile on Clint's face whenever he tried to talk the lunch-lady into giving him just one more tiny bit of chocolate cake, or the smallest of grins when he was about to scare another Junior agent.

Or the way his shirt would rise up when he stretched on the couch in Phil's office, the way that the shirt would be all over his shoulders when the man stretched.

He also hoped that, the fact that he had to swallow a LOT when that happens was a sign of a cold trying to get into his system, because he surely felt a bit feverish – and for once he was glad he didn't blush that easily. And since the cold didn't leave after the seven days… Phil decided that perhaps, just maybe, it wasn't a cold.

He also decided he was doomed, 'cause this… _thing_ wasn't going anywhere, and that meant that Phil will have to do something about it.

Oh God. It meant that Phil will have to go _against the rules_. The folders in his hands fell to the ground and the Junior agents scattered to pick them up for Phil, while the older ones tried their best not to stare too obviously. The Earth had to come to its end, if Phil Coulson wasn't paying attention to his whereabouts.

* * *

The first time, Phil wasn't even aware it **was** the first time. It all seemed pretty normal and Phil didn't even think of doing it. But then when he was thinking about it… he really didn't understand how come Clint didn't get him. It was so…. **obvious**.

When the agent came into his office, groaning and falling on his couch, lifting his feet on the table – the table where Phil put the done reports, the ones he just started and he froze – and it seemed that Clint noticed his tensed shoulder as well, 'cause he winced and quickly pulled his feet down.

"I'm so sorry." He said slowly, glancing at the papers and wincing again when he noticed the black smudge. "I'm terribly sorry, sir."

Phil nodded.

"It's okay." He said and Barton gave him a look that said he was unsure if Phil really meant it. Because what was sitting there was the reports Phil's been collecting for some time, and rewriting it into a neat documents.

And it was then that Phil realized – he was trying to give Barton a message unconsciously – one that Barton didn't get by the way he quickly left. And Phil spent another few hours rewriting the reports, once more.

* * *

The second time, Phil was aware of that. He didn't plan it though; it just came out from the situation. It was when alien came to Earth and when Barton waited for him.

"He's not talking, is he?"

"Not yet." Phil shook his head. Oh he knew the… man will be hard to crack, but it wasn't like Phil was first year in SHIELD.

"Guy like that could probably take months of torture before he starts to crack. It's too bad that you're not the torturing type."

And Phil's heart didn't flutter when Clint said that. 'Cause that would mean Barton was paying attention to him and his way and… and that was when Phil realized – there was a way to show to Barton what was going through his mind. The chance was right there, waiting for Phil to take it. And he did.

"You have an idea, I assume?" It wasn't often that Phil _asked _for other people ideas.

"Yeah, cut him loose."

Oh and Fury wouldn't agree with that, not by far.

"Let him walk? Just like that?" And even though Phil asked that, he already knew he was going to do that anyway. Because it was **Clint **coming up with it, and Phil didn't know any other way of showing, subtly, what was going on.

No, Phil Coulson didn't ask other people ideas. He had enough of his own – and even ,if by any chance those ideas made their way to him, he wouldn't do something like letting the man, unidentified one, go. He did.

Shame that Barton didn't understand that gesture either.

* * *

The third time was planned. Slowly and carefully, and it took week for it to be prepared to the point where he could present it to Clint.

Phil noticed, some time ago how Clint looks at his uniform. A small glare in his eyes and the lips shut tightly whenever he was told to 'suit up' for the mission. He noticed the slight twitch in his arm and that was when he got the idea.

And the first part of the plan was done finally, sitting innocently in Clint's locker room, waiting for its opportunity to come. And soon it did.

It was a mission for Clint and Natasha – Budapest one, when Clint strolled into his office, Natasha at his tail, and he did a small swirl.

"How do I look?" The man asked and Phil was glad he was sitting behind his desk for once. The new uniform hugged Clint's form just right, almost as if it wanted to show every muscle the man possessed. Phil swallowed and nodded.

"Passable."

Clint's grin widened.

"I don't know how the guys from costumes made it, but … hell I love this one. See you later, sir."

And something in Phil prevented him from opening his mouth and explaining just how exactly the people got it. Just how many hours **Phil** spent on helping design the costume, judging by what he heard from all those lengthy complains Clint loved so much to do, while resting on his couch.

Phil's hand twitched, when Clint walked out of the door and he did his best to pretend he didn't notice Natasha's suspicious look.

Why did **she** have to by the spy and not Barton? Maybe then he would realize.

Phil sighed, deciding that this plan was the worst, so far.

* * *

Fourth time was random once more. Now that Phil thought about it, and if he believed there was something more powerful than Fury in his angry state, which seemed to be coming around more and more often, since the Avengers Initiative started working, he would've entertained the idea that some kind of God gave him the chance.

It was short after the Budapest mission, Clint still recovering – and Phil going to medical to ask how he is almost each day – as he stepped into Phil's office, waving with his hand and sitting down on the couch. Couch that was Clint's by now, cause no one else dared to sit down in Phil's office – perhaps it had something to do with how tensed Phil was when the junior agent dared to sit down in Clint's place the other day, but he was not about to admit that.

So Clint came in, sat down and pulled on the most miserable expression.

"I'm sorry – I don't have the report still, but-"

Phil shook his head.

"It's okay. I wrote it." He changed a few things from Natasha's report and if Fury noticed, Phil pretended he didn't know what the man was talking about.

"Thank you." Clint smiled and closed his eyes and okay, maybe fourth time didn't work out as well, but the smile Phil got… was reward enough.

* * *

The fifth time brought along a realization. Phil Coulson couldn't utterly and absolutely bake. That was a major fault in Phil's plan, he realized when he was looking down at what was supposed to be a sweet chocolate cake, but instead looked like the alien the Avengers fought the other week – and that was still putting it mildly.

Phil frowned and was about to push the horrible thing from the table, when Clint waltzed in and blinked.

"What is that?"

He asked and Phil looked up, before looking back at the thing.

"Thor's future, if he continues to unconsciously anger the Hulk."

Clint chuckled and dug one long finger into the mess, before licking it off.

"Well, he wouldn't look appetizing, but he'd be sweeter than he is now." The agent winked and Phil swallowed. This… thing with Barton was going to kill him. He knew it.

"Off to mission now, sir." He waved and walked out of the room, letting Phil alone with brown mess. He sighed and threw it into the trash.

"You know… Clint is like a puppy." A voice came from the door and Phil frowned.

"Whatever do you mean, agent Romanoff?"

Natasha shrugged.

"He doesn't realize he's doing something wrong until you catch his throat and push his nose into the mess he's made."

And as worrying as the fact that Natasha seemed to know what was going on was, it was also nice knowing she didn't think Phil was the only one making this mess. Because really, how could he be the only one to blame with Clint going around with all those smiles, and pats on Phil's shoulders and looking all worried whenever Phil had to go to medical?

Of course a person would get confused and would start longing for more. So it wasn't _just_ Phil's fault. Not at all.

… fifth time was fail also, but he considered asking Fury to raise Natasha's paycheck.

* * *

Phil was returning from training the junior agents that day, his head hurting not only from the practice explosions earlier that day, but also from the complains about how Phil was nothing but a office rat and didn't know how the REAL fight looked, the complains they so nicely thought he didn't hear.

He did. But he was too tired to correct them, especially knowing Natasha heard that comment too, and he could just SEE the murderous look in her eyes as he congratulated the agents on surviving the first training before leaving, and he really, truly wouldn't want to be one of them right then.

He didn't even close the door to his office when Clint pushed in right behind him and Phil turned lifting an eyebrow.

"I'd like to ask permission to take the junior idio- uh… agents for _target_ practice, sir." And it was cute how Clint could get offended in Phil's stand, and how quickly he got to the news that had a relations to Phil.

Perhaps he really _was_ like a puppy.

"Permission not granted."

"But, sir!"

"No." Phil shook his head. "Natasha's dealing with them already, and we can't have all of them quit. Contrary to the popular belief, SHIELD doesn't try to make enemies of every single person it comes into contact with."

And there was a pout on Clint's face, and before Phil could really realize what he was doing, he reached out and touched his hair. It was soft and so nice and Phil should just pull it back and go to his papers, but his body wasn't his own.

"Thank you for your concern though. It … means a lot to me."

Neither was his mouth, obviously, 'cause it was doing whatever it wanted. And when Clint looked at him, Phil's breath caught up in his throat – and that was so unprofessional, the explosions probably still messing with his head and Phil _promised_ himself not to show up in the weapon research section for at least a week, when he licked his lips and his fingers gripped the back of Clint's neck, and pulled closer.

He couldn't think anymore though, and that was scary, because that didn't happen to Phil, Phil had to be able to think – but he had his lips pressed against Clint's and oh god. Oh God.

He was kissing Clint. And Clint was kissing back.

But all too soon they were pulling back and Clint pressed his forehead against Phil's, grin on his face:

"Finally. I thought you didn't get the hint." He chuckled and Phil blinked.

"Hint?" Wait… wasn't _he_ the one throwing hints Clint's way and was getting frustrated because the man didn't notice?

"Yeah." The man nodded. "I mean you're awesome, Phil, but… you really don't know how to cook." And his look was probably confused because Clint grinned. "Seriously. The brown mess? I almost gaged."

And one of them was stupid. Or perhaps both of them. But Clint was opening his mouth again, and Phil really, _really_, couldn't take whatever he wanted to say right then – so he did the only thing he could. Kissed the man once more.

* * *

_From the Desk of Direction Nick Fury:  
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistic Division Washington, D. C. _

_To Whom it May Concern:_

_Making out at work is NOT encouraged. If you by some accident do that though, be so nice as to close the shutters. Those are there for a reason. _

_Also, the fact that you did the previous act with Agent Coulson doesn't give you a right to shoot anyone who as much as glances his way, Agent Barton. _

_NICK FURY  
Director (S. H. I. E. L. D.)_


End file.
